Page 35 of Trick

“I want to, but I’m not ready yet.”

It’s as much as I can give him.

“Okay,” he says, no hint of judgement in that word. “But when you are, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” I say, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to tell him the truth.

CHAPTER 11

TRICK

Waking up is like trying to drag myself out of a bath of syrup. My body feels heavy, and there is a constant ache in my gut that feels both dull and sharp at the same time. It makes me want to draw my knees to my chin just to ease it.

Carefully, I try to open my eyes, but the lids feel sewn together, and every movement of my head sends waves of throbbing agony through my face.

Did I get hit by a fucking tank?

Groaning, I slowly sit up, holding my stomach as breath-stealing pain flares through my body. My plan had seemed like a good one at the time, but regret weighs heavy on me now.

I don’t know if what I did will make a difference, but I have to believe it will. I need this to work.

My vision spins as I cling to the mattress, lowering my head between my shoulders to suck in air. Last night is fuzzy, but I remember Heidi’s furious anger at seeing me hurt. The way she wants to take care of me makes me feel as if my ribs have been torn open to expose that dead lump of meat in my chest—only it’s no longer dead.

It beats again for her, for my daughter, for the life I want to live and the future I want to have.

I never thought I could find that desire to live again.

I also remember our conversation. She admitted she’s hiding something, and while I want to drag it out of her, I know I have to tread lightly here.

But first, I need to piss. My bladder is screaming at me to empty it.

Gritting my teeth through the pain, I get to my feet in slow, measured movements. I’m still wearing my jeans that I had on yesterday, but my attempt to pull on a T-shirt leaves me gasping. I can’t lift my arms high enough to pull it over my head.

Fuck it.

I toss the shirt onto the bed and peer down at my chest. Beneath the inkwork that decorates my skin is an array of bright purple bruises like smeared paint. No wonder breathing hurts.

I’ve never felt so fucking weak. My legs tremble as I straighten, and I take a second to find my feet before I shuffle across the room and onto the landing.

Every step sets off a new pain inside me, but I keep moving, using the wall as an anchor, and by the time I reach the toilet, my knees are shaking.

I don’t attempt to piss standing up, instead sitting like I’m a fucking kid, but it’s a good thing I do. That first release of urine is like glass, and I nearly bend in half trying to escape the pain.

Remember why you did this…

Fuck me. I squeeze my eyes shut as I drain my bladder, sweat running down the back of my nape. It takes me a few minutes after I’m done to find the strength to stand so I can wash my hands.

The walk back isn’t as bad, but I want to sleep. Despite the pain, I find myself in the nursery.

The nightlight provides a low glow as I make my way over to the cot, shuffling like I’m forty years older than I am.

Sophia’s head is turned to the side, her hands raised up to her head as she sleeps peacefully. I’ve never felt more unworthy in my life as I stare down at the sleeping form of my daughter, but I’ve also never felt more determined to create a life for her that’s better than this.

I’m not sure how long I stand there, leaning against the rail of the cot, but when my legs start to fold, I know it’s time to get back into bed.

I make it halfway down the landing before my body gives in. I slide down the wall, everything rolling around me as saliva pools in my mouth.

It’s in this position that Heidi finds me. She steps out of her bedroom, wearing a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a small vest top that does nothing to hide the stiff peaks of her nipples.

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